Everything is open. Light pours in through the spaces. All has become new. I walk around alone, for my husband returned to work today. Every new sound brushes over me as confetti. I recognize almost nothing. I am startled but not overcome. The gate constantly alerts me as if a visitor has come close, but I remind myself minute-to-minute that in this place the wind commands more attention. It isn’t far that our feet have trod to be living here. Navigating to our new house involved skill but now involves only describing to a boda driver in Lusoga that we live at the ”place of power”. Opposite the electricity pylon, our little dirt road lies. People tell us jokingly that we now live in the village. Our house is tucked away at the bottom of a hill most do not even know lies in existence. Now I am a wife. The working hours that separate us are silent. They hold no fear for me now. Perfect Love established me, hushing to nothing the lies I had memorized. He has chosen me as his secret-keeper and the thief who owns most of his smiles. This season is for rain but these windows see nothing but sunshine from my corner of these rooms. The children next door respond to the birds whose voices resemble laughter, and my daughters echo that laughter on our veranda. Most of all we have here now is laughter and a song.